


Long Live the King

by RustedWireWitch



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Elves, Immortality, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RustedWireWitch/pseuds/RustedWireWitch
Summary: Short fic about Kings Bard and Thranduil meeting several times in the years following the Battle of the Five Armies and the rise of Dale.





	1. Spring

It was spring in Dale and five years had passed since the ascension of King Bard.

A light rain scattered on the grass of the hillside, gentle enough that it came and went with barely a change in the air. Thranduil, king of the realm of Mirkwood, placed his hand against a stone and slid long, slender fingers against its smooth surface. He lifted it to his eyeline, inspecting the flat piece of rock intently and out onto the water beyond before turning his attention to his companion.

Bard the bowman, Bard the king had a stone of his own, pressing it between his palms.

“Is this truly what you would choose to do in your time away from the pressures of kingship?” The elven lord asked him, arching an exquisite eyebrow.

“Skipping stones across the lake was a favoured pastime of mine as a child. Same for many of my friends of the time.”

“The children of Esgaroth clearly lead rich and varied lives if hurling rocks at water was their idea of fun.”

“We had a lot of stones. And an abundance of water.” Bard concluded with a chuckle. “Besides, what would you recommend we do?”

“In Mirkwood it would be traditional to take a visiting dignitary on a wild hunt. Ride through the forest for days and nights, sounding the raucous horn and letting nature take its course while fear and anticipation grip one’s heart.”

Bard nodded and grinned, the idea did sound somewhat appealing. 

“Perhaps some day I’ll have to come along, old friend.” Bard threw his stone, letting it skip across the surface of the still water.

“Perhaps one of these days, old friend. There are plenty more ahead of us.”


	2. Summer

It was summer in Dale and eighteen years had passed since the ascension of King Bard.

Two kings walked the stone streets of Dale, trying their best to ignore the assembled crowds that seemed to congregate for the sole purpose of stopping in their tracks and bowing. Bard stifled a chuckle as they turned onto a side path, elven bodyguards trailing behind just far enough away to be considered polite.

“You find something amusing in your subject’s admiration of you?” Thranduil asked, looking along the reliefs adorning the walls.

“They’re not like this when it’s just me,” Bard explained, placing a hand on the elf’s shoulder, not noticing the momentary glance of arcane eyes. “The old just remember me as a bowman, and the young know me as a simple man who walks their streets, buys their wares and happens to be their king. All this deference is for your sake, your highness.” He offered a bow in light-hearted jest.

“Perhaps it is the shock of seeing a king who looks the part.” Thranduil turned his head and Bard fancied that he saw a glimpse of a smirk at the edge of those sharp lips. “One who perhaps has not suffered the effects of too much wine and feasting.” The elf patted his companion on the belly.

“You do plenty of both in your halls,” Bard retorted, straightening himself up. “Or so I here anyway, I’ll have to visit sometime and see for myself.”

“Indeed you shall one day. There are plenty more ahead of us.”


	3. Autumn

It was autumn in Dale and twenty-five years had passed since the ascension of King Bard.

The moon hung low and heavy, pale light catching every branch and root as the two kings picked their way through the dying woodland.

“You’ll have to slow down to my pace,” Bard called out from a few metres behind his partner. “I’m not as quick on my feet as I used to be.” Thranduil turned to him.

“Whereas I have been able to keep the same pace on every one of our meetings. Perhaps you should quicken your feet and join me. It will help you shed those kingly belt notches for one thing.”

“Oh to be a young man again and hear a stunning elf-king bid me shed my belt.” Bard caught up just as Thranduil turned his head away. In the moonlight it was impossible to say if he had seen a blush on that frosty cheek. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure elves could blush. He decided to leave it lie. “It really is a beautiful night, all this star and moonlight on the branches, like the-“

“-the silver in your hair.” Thranduil finished. 

“I was going to say your hair.” Bard scrunched his face up.

“My hair is a sea of starlight, unbroken and unending. Your hairs are streaks of grey clinging to the timbers and branches of darkness. Far more apt, don’t you agree?”

“There’s not that much grey,” Bard pouted.

“True, it does mostly appear to settle in your beard.”

“At least I can grow a beard.”

“If I were to grow a beard, I am sure it would be far more luxurious and beautiful an affair than your own, your highness.” Thranduil grinned as he looked his companion over.

“Now that, I would like to see someday.” Bard said, pausing for a moment as his lungs seized and he hunched over, hands on his thighs and coughing quietly.

“Someday you shall. There are plenty more ahead of us.”


	4. Winter

It was winter in Dale and thirty-three years had passed since the ascension of king Bard.

They sat on a rooftop, the stars above them watching silently as a small fire began to die down in its brazier. Bard pulled another blanket around himself as he shifted in his seat, turning dark eyes to his companion.

“I know my eyes don’t work as well as they used to,” the king of Dale said, his voice whispered and almost lost on the night air. “But I can tell that you’re uncomfortable.”

Thranduil stared into the fire. Stared past the fire. Stared anywhere he could to avoid looking at his friend. His slender, powerful fingers interlaced and gripped tightly at nothing. He could not find a single word to say.

“If it helps any, I don’t really feel like talking about it either.” Bard said, giving a chuckle that turned gradually into a fit of coughing. “Don’t really have to talk about anything really. We can just sit here and watch the sun come up.”

Thranduil nodded, looking at his open palms as if the answers to his troubles would somehow be scrawled across them.

“I would have liked to watch the sun rise with you from my halls in Mirkwood.”

“I know, I know old friend. It’s a special one too, you know? Tonight. The solstice. After tonight the dawn will get here quicker every day and every night will slip by a little faster. The world’s going to get a little brighter from here on out. You’ll see.”

Thranduil nodded, smiling as he looked to the aged human king. White in beard and thinning hair, lines crossing his face but undeniably the same great man that he had stood alongside all those years ago. Just as strong, just as honourable, just as beautiful.

“Maybe next year we’ll do this on your palace’s roof, hm?” 

“Maybe, old friend.”

“Or the year after that, or really any year. After all.” Bard trailed off.

“After all, we have plenty more ahead of us.” Thranduil placed his hand on Bard’s shoulder and turned to face the sunrise.


	5. Spring

It was spring in Dale and many years had passed since the ascension of King Bard.

A light rain scattered on the grass of the hillside, gentle enough that it came and went with barely a change in the air. Thranduil, king of the realm of Mirkwood, placed his hand against a stone and slid long, slender fingers against its rough surface.

The men of Dale burned their king when he passed, as was their custom. This rock was left here simply as a monument, a marker to remind all who passed of the bowman of Lake Town. Thranduil had reminders all his own, everywhere he looked when he left his woodland realm or passing by in his imagination whenever he sat alone. 

The elf king knelt at the foot of the stone and picked a single white flower from the grass, turning it over in his hands. 

He would relive his memories and always journey with his friend, from the siege at Erebor to the midwinter night on the rooftop. A lifetime of memories for all the years that would follow. 

After all, there were plenty more ahead of him.


End file.
